


Tracys on Tour

by FranL



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 04:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20941994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FranL/pseuds/FranL
Summary: Pre-IR, Alan and Scott have some fun in Oxford. Lessons in practical jokes, underage clubbing, and the dangers of trying to drink like the English :P Original Series.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The groceries weighed a ton. The thin handles of the shopping bags dug painfully into Scott's fingers as he tried to pull his digipad bag out of the way enough to drag the keys out of his pocket. The mail that he'd transported in his mouth since the lobby was starting to slip, as were the research folders jammed under his arm as he hurriedly approached his door. His urgency increased when he realised he could hear the phone ringing inside his apartment. Just a second, just a second!

He just had his key out when the inevitable happened and the research took a nose-dive. The ring-binder sprang open and deposited several sections of his notes over the floor, and in his growl of frustration the mail followed suit. Just great. Shoving the key into the old-fashioned deadbolt he dove through the door and dropped the bags in just the same amount time that it took the phone to stop ringing. Scott sighed forcefully and surveyed the damage. What a rotten day.

He went out to the hallway and scooped up the paperwork he'd dropped, kicking the door shut on his return. He was supposed to be meeting some friends in Oxford tonight, but first he wanted to organise today’s notes into the draft of the report he was writing. The Air Force had given him a great opportunity in this allies relations research gig, and he was always determined that no-one should doubt that he earned his opportunities. He'd already been here six weeks and was way ahead on the material he needed for his comparison of developmental training strategies. With his extra time he wanted to more specifically reference the newer craft that the RAF had started to test just in the past few weeks.

He went to the kitchen and started to make some coffee, trying to focus on how well things were going in general, and not on what a stinker today had been. One of those gray and drizzling, coffee-spilling, wrong-thing-saying, notes-dropping days. He was seriously looking forward to forgetting all about it and heading into town with some of his old friends from college. It felt good to be back in England, even if it would only be for a few more weeks.

Scott set the machine brewing the coffee and stretched, feeling his rain-soaked sweater pull at him uncomfortably as he did so. He couldn't believe he forgot his coat. He should have known. In England, a clear sky first thing in the morning did _not _necessarily mean no rain.

A sharp knock hammered his door, and Scott growled in annoyance. The people he knew here lived in town or in London, and therefore generally got in touch on the phone. When someone knocked on his door, it was most commonly Debbie.

_Common being the operative word_, his internal-Bitch grumbled, and he grinned. She wasn't bad, just horny as hell and unable to take a hint. Sighing, he went to the door and prepared to be there for a good ten minutes explaining that he'd picked up yet another virus that meant he couldn't come and help her eat whatever she'd made too much of this time. Yes, yes, foreigners seem _so _susceptible to illness these days, maybe we don't get enough nutrition in other countries...

Taking a steeling breath and preparing a polite smile, he pulled the door open. The smile immediately fell of his face in shock.

"Hey Scott."

"_Alan??_"

Scott couldn't believe it, but it was definitely his sixteen-year-old brother in the hall, looking tired and upset and lost. And damn right he should look lost; he was supposed to be four and a half thousand miles to the right.

Scott was speechless. He exhaled his shock again, eyes unblinkingly staring at Alan from his mop of blonde curls down to his well-worn, high-end sneakers. He felt it unlikely that he'd hallucinate in this much detail.

He shook his head disbelievingly, and then grabbed his brother's shoulder and pulled him forwards into a bear hug. Alan clung to his sweater in a way that spoke volumes to Scott.

"How the hell did you get here?" His younger brother pulled back, tiredly rubbing his face, but Scott kept hold of his shoulder.

"Same way you did," Alan replied tersely, lip looking dangerously close to wobbling. But he set his mouth in a stubborn manner that Scott remembered very well, and he shrugged his hefty bag back up where it was sliding from his shoulder. "You can't make me go back."

Scott's heart kicked up with alarm, "Oh God. What do you mean?" He steered the sixteen-year-old into his apartment and closed the door behind them. Alan ignored the question, dropping his backpack where he stood, and then wandering into the kitchen like he owned the place.

"Alan," Scott called with more warning in his tone, following him into the kitchen. His heart was still shimmering with anxiety, "What's happened? Are you all right?"

"No, of course I'm not all right," Alan answered, sounding tense as he opened and closed cupboards. "Why else would I blow my savings on a plane ticket to another continent with an hour's notice? I don't miss you _that _much."

He located and retrieved a mug and plonked it down in front of the coffee machine. With a glance at Scott he seemed to rethink and quickly grabbed another one, placing it alongside the first. And then he sighed. "I ran away from home."

That was just what Scott had been most worried about hearing. He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"I couldn't stand it any more, Scott!" Alan's voice rose with frustration. "He's ten times worse than he was when you guys were there! He's _always_ working, _always _busy, he _never has any time_." Alan kicked the cabinet in front of him, looking angry and miserable. "At least when the rest of you were there it was easier to not notice, but now Gordy's gone just like the rest of you, accepted to WASP early, and all me and Dad do is fight. When he's there to fight with, that is."

"Alan, this is insane. You can't run away from home to another country!" Scott wasn't sure whether to hug or to strangle the impulsive idiot. "Since when have things with Dad been this bad? He's going to go ape at this."

"I doubt he's even noticed I've gone," Alan murmured bitterly, wrapping his arms around himself with a shiver. "We could wait and see how long it takes him. We could place bets, it'll be fun. How slow is your goddamn coffee machine?"

"Oh God," Scott's head rolled back onto the kitchen door-frame and he dug in his pocket for his cell. No missed calls, had his dad lost his UK cell number? Maybe he was trying not to worry Scott, after all there was nothing that he could do from England. Well, that's how it would seem anyway, but of course they were dealing with Alan's particular brand of Crazy.

The phone had been ringing when Scott got home. He'd missed the call. He dialled his father's number immediately, currently unconcerned that it would cost him a fortune from his cell.

"I knew you'd do that," Alan muttered, looking as betrayed as possible. He slunk down to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up in front of him and looking predatory. "I won't go back."

Scott glared at him as he raised the phone to his ear, "What you've done is seven shades of insane, Alan, and Dad will be in the middle of a heart-attack." He tried to look reassuring as well as firm. "We can fix this. It'll be okay."

Alan hugged his knees to him and turned his face away. With a sigh Scott wandered back into the living room, being careful to stay between the kitchen and the front door in case Alan had any more thoughts on travel.

The phone connected. "Hello son," his father sounded amiable, if a little distracted, "how's England this evening?"

"Er, fine," Scott hadn't expected small talk. He scuffed his sneakers against the floor awkwardly, unsure how to give this news when Jeff hadn't mentioned it first. He decided he could only be direct. "Dad. Erm, lost any kids lately...?"

"Hmm?" He heard Jeff pull away from the phone, speak to someone else about pulling some particular files, and for a heart-stopping moment he thought Alan's flippancy might have been accurate: had Jeff seriously not noticed that his youngest son had been gone for over ten hours?

"Dad, listen to me, it's about Alan –"

"Oh yes? Going okay, I hope?"

Scott's brain fell out of gear, and he cruised in neutral for a second. "... What?"

"He said he'd sent you the details so that you'd know when to pick him up. You find him okay?"

Still in neutral. Scott had nothing. "... What?"

"Son, he should have got in within the last two hours," Jeff was definitely focussed on him now, sounding slightly alarmed. "When I wouldn't let him go from Heathrow to Oxford alone, he said you were fine to pick him up. Do you have him or not?"

Scott could feel the first pieces of comprehension sliding into place. "Oh yeah. I got him, all right."

"Well, all right then," said Jeff, sounding milder again. Scott could picture him at Tracy Corps, returning his attention to his desk covered in paperwork, phone balanced under his ear with ease of long practice. "So what do you two have planned for the next week? Alan wouldn't tell me what you'd discussed, but I figured I could trust you to keep him from doing anything stupid."

"Week?" Scott stalled, brain grinding back to neutral. A week? Alan was staying with him for a week?

"Son, are you okay?" Jeff's full attention was back on the phone. "He said you had time to have him under your feet this week, but you really don't sound yourself to me. Sure, he's been looking forward to staying with you, but don't worry, he knows he can go to Chester to stay with Annie and Dave if he needs to."

Scott was almost reluctant to turn back around, but as the enormity of Alan's prank started to hit home he couldn't keep his eyes from creeping back to the direction of the kitchen. Alan was leaning on the door-frame, completely paralysed with laughter, tears streaming down his delighted rosy cheeks. Scott fought the grin of relief and embarrassment, and it wasn't a fight he won.

He wrapped up his call to his father as quickly as he could, and the second Scott hit 'disconnect', Alan was howling, sliding weakly to the floor in a manner partly for effect, and partly because it really was that funny.

Scott pursed his smiling lips, resisting the urge to join in. "You're paying for that call," he advised Alan as he stepped over him into the kitchen, "and I'm afraid your Oscar won't be here until Monday."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott works on getting Alan clubbing-ready. Alan works on pranking Scott. Brotherly love :P 
> 
> Look out for swears, but in Scott's defence they're totally justified.

Chapter 2

"I told you I could eat spaghetti with chopsticks."

"Congratulations."

The brothers sat together on the couch, each making short work of a heaped bowlful of bolognese. _Since when can you cook? _Alan had asked as Scott put him to work chopping veg. '_Cook' is a strong word, but I can generally avoid food poisoning. Generally. _

"So how's your heart now, old man?" Alan smiled evilly around a mouthful of food.

"You're an asshole," his big brother informed him.

Alan cackled again, delighted, as Scott dryly took a sip from his bottle of beer. The near cardiac episode that the youngest Tracy had induced in him was easing nicely, as was the surprise at learning that he would be staying for the week. Scott was now figuring how he could rearrange his work to maximise the time they could spend together.

Damn, but Alan had got him good. Scott had to chuckle with him. The fellas were going to love this one.

"So how's your project going?" Alan tucked his feet up under him and concentrated on twisting his pasta around the chopsticks. He was making it look surprisingly easy.

"It's going really well," Scott replied, shovelled more bolognese into his mouth.

"Is it interesting?"

"_So _interesting," he enthused, full mouth not stopping him. He took a moment to swallow before continuing. "The bases around here are cool. I used to fly up at Benson with the OUAS when I was at Oxford, and a whole bunch of the people I knew are still stationed there. They've been really helpful." He smiled, rueful. "I guess I've had it easy on this assignment. But it's been fascinating so far, been making me think I might want to go into training instead."

Alan was surprised, "Instead of being a fighter pilot? I can't imagine that." Scott shrugged, and his brother added, "Grandma would be pleased though."

Scott grinned, "Yeah she would. But who knows what I'll want to do? It depends on the opportunities that come up. We'll see."

Alan hummed his acknowledgement, twisting on the couch again so that his legs were crossed.

"How about you? How's the racing?"

The excitement that suddenly shone from Alan's face made his Scott grin. "Oh God, Scott, it's so awesome! Me and Kenny are down the Speedway most days, and we met Carson Maylor and he saw me race," his voice raised impressively, "and let me take his new Toyota K-5000 out for a few laps."

Scott's eyes widened in surprise, "Are you serious? Isn't that the fastest car on the circuit this year?"

"Yup. _And_, my PB was almost as fast as his. He said I was a natural," Alan smiled in faux-modesty. "I have to say I agree with him."

Scott shook his head with amusement, trying not to think seriously about the danger of the speeds involved. "God, Alan, you're a worry."

His brother smiled a supremely unconcerned smile at him, twisting his legs around again. That kid could never just keep still.

"Can I have a beer?"

"I don't think so, pipsqueak," Scott scoffed, placing his empty bowl on the floor and sitting back on the couch. "You're sixteen. Drink your soda, you'll get thirsty waiting five years for a beer."

"But I'm in England Scott, I'm only two years off of the legal drinking age here."

"That's right, Alan," Scott sounded like he was explaining how two plus two equalled four. "And by the time you leave you'll still have a year and fifty-one weeks to wait. Drink your soda."

Alan's eyes narrowed, welcoming the challenge. "Okay Scott, so you're telling me that when you were at college and you were nineteen – two years off the drinking age where _you _were – you never _ever_ drank?"

"Of _course_ not." It was so obviously a lie that they both laughed.

Scott pretending to mull it over a few moments more. "Okay, fine. This stuff isn’t very strong anyway. Make yourself useful and get me another while you're there."

Alan leapt off the couch, kicking the coffee table in the process, but to his credit he also collected up their dishes and took them through to the kitchen.

Scott leaned over the couch arm and called after him, "You didn't really blow your savings on your ticket here, did you?"

"God, no," he heard the response along with the clink of dishes being put in the sink. "I said I wanted to visit you and Dad said he'd go halves on a ticket as an early birthday present."

Scott smiled ruefully. Jeff was good at teaching his sons to be sensible with money, but he'd never yet held one of them to an 'early birthday present' restriction once their birthday came around.

"Buy him a souvenir, won't you."

"I will," Alan was smiling as he came back with the beers, clearly thinking the same things as Scott.

He landed heavily on the couch and made the beers froth out of the bottles a little. Scott groaned as his brother caught the spill with his sweatshirt cuffs.

"God, Alan, I know the sorts of things those sleeves have seen."

"Alcohol's a disinfectant, you'll be fine," he handed Scott a bottle and then held his up. "Cheers!"

Scott clinked the bottle with his, chuckling. This was going to be a fun week.

Alan took a large mouthful of beer, and then was up off the couch again and heading for the stereo before Scott even got his bottle his lips. Reclining further with a satisfied sigh, Scott watched his younger brother amusedly. No matter how hard he was pushing himself at any one time, hanging out with Alan always made him feel like he was taking life at a snail's pace.

He'd taken no time at all to figure out the controls to the stereo, and soon he was noisily jumping through all the music stations he could find.

"Oh, make yourself at home, won't you kid," Scott's sarcasm was not subtle. But then the blonde located some classic rock, and turned looking smug. "Okay," Scott conceded, "you're forgiven. But try to sit still; you're making me dizzy."

Alan crashed back to the couch again, "I love this song. Hey Scott, don't you miss your friends at your base in Ohio?"

"Sure, a little. But I'm not going to be gone that long, really. And by coming here I get to catch up with my friends from college."

Alan looked thoughtful, like he was choosing his words carefully. It was the most time he'd taken over a sentence all night.

"Do you miss Charlie?"

It had been a few months now, but her name from out of nowhere like that still hit Scott like a fist. He tried to hide it, but his voice sounded strained even to him: "Sure."

Clearly Alan could see right through him. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, sounding like he meant it. Sweet kid. "You said in your e-mail that you were going to be friends still?"

Scott made a face, pulling at the label on his beer bottle. "It turns out it's not that simple."

"So why did you break up, anyway?" Typical Alan, getting to the point a little too abruptly. Scott winced, raising a cautioning hand.

"I don't want to get into it."

"But you're upset."

"I'm fine. "

"I thought you seemed really good together," Alan pulled some fluff from his sock, looking reflective. "I just wondered what could have happened, really."

Scott frowned in irritation and stood up, subconsciously moving away from the conversation physically as well as verbally. "Look, Alan, I don't want to talk about it."

"But why?"

"Alan!"

Scott reached his limit and snapped at his brother, immediately feeling bad because he knew he was just trying to help him, in his hopeless, teenage way. Scott sighed and turned, trying not to be annoyed.

"Because it's – the whole thing was just really sad, that's why. It's not an angry, bitter 'screw her' situation that feels any better for bitching about it. It's just sad."

Alan went back to examining his sock, and Scott took the opportunity to change the subject, wanting their levity back.

"I'm fine. I just can't get depressed because we're going clubbing tonight."

Alan's head shot up, eyes wide and delighted, "We are?"

Scott grinned, "Uh huh."

"But I'm too young," Alan was straight to the point once again, keen to see how his big brother would fix it.

Scott went back to his speaking-to-an-idiot voice, "Yes, well, I would have made different plans, but I didn't know you'd be here." They laughed. "Look, I'm meeting some friends from college tonight. I haven't seen some of them for years. I'm not missing it, so you'd better just suck it up and be an old man tonight. Seriously old. I mean cataracts and hip replacements, and everything."

Alan saluted, "You got it!"

* * *

It wasn't as easy as Scott had hoped to make Alan look eighteen. He was pretty tall for his age, and had the broad build of someone who didn't shy away from physical activities. But that damn baby-face that he would be so pleased to have in a decade was making things difficult right now.

From a distance it didn't look bad. Alan had produced some tight wet-effect black pants from his backpack that appalled Scott, but he took Alan's word for it that they were bang-on trend, and all the chains hanging from the waistband did give him an older image.

None of Alan's t-shirts looked right for a club. Scott had eventually resorted to putting a old red, silky shirt of his through the tumble dryer at the highest temperature it would go. The shrunken, warped result had them in fits, but when Alan put it on it looked great, clinging and showing off the definition of his muscles in a way that helped the illusion nicely.

But something still wasn't right. Scott watched his brother gelling his hair in the bathroom mirror and tried to put his finger on what was missing. He had to figure it out, because if Alan didn't get admitted it'd be a very short, very disappointing night out.

Alan's gaze met his in the mirror. "What?"

"I think you need make-up."

Alan rolled his eyes, "Yeah, right."

Scott's smile was half-amused, half-apologetic, "I'm not joking. Some dark eye make-up would disguise your face a little, give you a gothy image to hide behind." He sighed. "But I don't have any."

Alan snorted, "Fresh out, huh?"

"Uh huh," came Scott's sarcastic reply. He leaned on the bathroom wall, looking thoughtful. "Jen or Cam might bring some, I suppose. But I wouldn't like to rely on it."

Alan pulled back and looked himself over in the mirror, trying to see himself as an external observer would. Scott was right: his face was too bare, too young. Nerves pulled at his stomach a little, but he tried to make light by waving his butt in his brother's direction.

"Great pants though, huh? At least my ass looks good."

"With a face like yours, I guess you have to take any silver lining you can find," Scott dryly replied, wandering back into the living room. Alan flipped the bird at his brother's retreating back.

"You're just jealous," he called, bending over and walking backwards after him. "Who'll have the last laugh when I walk up to that club ass-first? Huh? Screw getting turned away, try V.I.P. treatment."

"Eugh. Put it away, no-one wants to see that."

Alan was not discouraged, shaking his butt energetically to the music from the stereo. Scott chuckled, but then Alan heard him gasp suddenly.

"Hey, I'm not that bad. Your dancing sucks."

"No, I just realised," Scott groaned, hiding his face in his hands. "I know where we can get some make-up. Oh God, no."

* * *

"I don't want to be here."

"Don't be such a baby," Alan rapped on the door before Scott could stop him. "She can't be that bad."

Scott didn't look convinced, and Alan held in a chuckle. He was enjoying seeing his cool, collected brother a little rattled.

_Maybe she's not in_, Scott half-hoped. _Maybe she'll be out. And maybe Alan will be mistaken for a thirty-two year old tonight. And we'll meet the Brazilian female beach volleyball team at the club. And they'll be too warm from dancing to keep their clothes on. _Gotta stay optimistic.

But then the door flew open, and there she was. "O.M.G., Scott! Nice to see you round my parts."

Debbie's thick South-England accent rolled over them and Alan suppressed a delighted laugh. Although she was fairly petite in stature, Debbie was definitely larger than life. He took in her poker-straight, platinum hair extensions; her talon-like French-tipped nails; her sweater which was giving physics a tough time to relocate her breasts accordingly. He tried not to blink. He knew instinctively that he didn't want to miss any of this.

Scott leaned on her door frame and smiled, "Hey Debs. Sorry to bother you, but I could really use a favour."

"You can come here for a favour any time, babes," she winked at him.

"Oh, that's great," Alan heard repressed laughter in his brother's voice. "This is my brother, Alan."

Debbie looked him over, apparently delighted. "O.M.G., what do they feed you over there?" She closed a hand around Alan's bicep. "Are all of your family this fit, Scott?"

"I’m honestly scared to tell you, Debs," he replied, smoothly disengaging her fingers from his little brother. "Anyway, we're going out to meet some friends, but this one here is _sixteen _– " it seemed to Alan that Scott stressed that fact to her particularly, "– and we need some make-up to get him looking the part. Can you help us out?"

She looked Scott over appreciatively, "You look nice. That blue shirt matches your eyes."

"Sure, you know I'm all about iris-coordination."

She pulled a face at him, sensing his sarcasm, before she disappeared into her apartment. Through her open door Alan caught sight of pristine and glossy surfaces, the word LOVE stencilled in glitter above her dining table, and a cross-trainer and weights in front of her TV. She also had several explicit posters of half-naked men that he could happily have lived without seeing.

And then she was back, rummaging through a pink, designer-looking bathroom bag. "Alan, I'm guessing you don't want the glittery stuff – " she laughed a shrill laugh that caught in the back of her throat. Alan felt Scott cringe slightly beside him, and pursed his lips against his smirk. "– shame, it'd really suit you, gorgeous. Really go with those sparkles in your eyes, yeah?" She laughed abrasively again and elbowed Scott in the ribs.

But then she came up with the goods. "I can do you mascara, eye pencils, dark eye-shadow – that's great, that stuff is, and I got it in the sales – and here's some liquid eye-liner as well." Alan took them from her eagerly.

"Thanks, that's so nice of you. We'll get them back to you as quick as we can."

"You're joking, babes. There's no hurry because I'm working earlies all this week, so I ain't got no chance for fun until Thursday," she pouted, eyes finding Scott again. "Unless I get invited to a pyjama party."

Scott was already pulling away from the general vicinity of her apartment, "That's too bad. Well, we've got those people waiting for us," and to someone who didn't know he sounded politely regretful. "But thanks so much for the loan, you saved our butts."

Debbie's eyes seemed to glaze over at the mental image, and Scott seized the opportunity, grabbing Alan's shoulder and moving back along the hall.

But then inspiration grabbed Alan: "Yeah, and it was so nice to meet you finally!"

Debbie's eyes were back on them, brow furrowed in interest, "Finally...?"

Alan squirmed against Scott's grip that was tightening uncomfortably on his shoulder, but he couldn't resist twisting the knife. "Sure, you're all Scott's talked about since I got here."

Scott felt his heart stop with embarrassment at Debbie's delighted face. There was no way out that didn't look stupidly coy. He was going to kill the little shit.

Alan was pulling that over-innocent, gee-whizz-I-said-the-wrong-thing face, and Scott squeezed his shoulder even harder, taking some comfort in eliciting a slight cry of pain. And then he smiled an awkward goodbye to the woman he was sure he'd be unable to shake until he left the fucking country again, and steered them hastily back to his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) To be continued!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tracys hit the town! Will Alan's disguise be sufficient?

Chapter 3

The dark autumnal night was already closing fast around them. Alan watched the bright streetlights flash past the cab as it drove them towards Oxford city centre, his eyes drawn to the drizzly raindrops that were pushed steadily across his window with each acceleration. He reclined in the seat and sighed contentedly, enjoying how all the cars were driving on the wrong side of the road.

"You okay, kid?"

Alan turned to his brother in the seat next to him and nodded, smiling. Scott went to ruffle his spiked blonde locks, and Alan jerked his head aside.

"Hey, not the hair!"

Scott chuckled and returned his attention to the passing scenery. For a moment Alan watched his brother's profile as it was periodically illuminated further in the headlights from the passing cars. His eyes seemed to glitter with anticipation of the night to come, helped along some by the eye-liner and mascara he was wearing. Guys wearing make-up on a night out to somewhere cosmopolitan was hardly outrageous these days, but as they'd worked on Alan's look he'd got more and more self-conscious; he didn't know Scott's friends, and didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb. So Scott had worn some too.

The make-up had worked a treat to finish the effect for Alan. His eyes were heavily lined, and he wore the dark shadow across his lids and smudged dramatically up to the brow-bone. With his black leather jacket the overall result was pretty damn striking. They just hoped it would do the job intended at the same time.

Getting made over had been funny, as neither of them had much experience. And Alan was still creasing up every five minutes over his 'new sister-in-law' Debbie. And big brother mostly took his lumps with grace. That said, the first occurrence on returning to the apartment was Scott's foot had connected very smartly and painfully with Alan's shin.

But just before the cab arrived, Scott side-lined his little brother.

"Listen, I got a few ground-rules."

Alan rolled his startlingly-defined eyes, "Gimmie a break, Scott, I'm not a kid."

"Hey, if you want to leave this apartment at all then you pay attention for the next two minutes and don't give me any lip." Scott placed himself in front of the door and folded his arms.

Alan folded his too, peeved. But he was also aware he didn't have much choice.

"Okay. You've done some pretty impulsive stuff today. You just can't do that tonight."

"Impulsive? Turning up here wasn't impulsive. Remember I've been planning it for ages, you just didn't know."

"Well, okay, I'll give you that," Scott conceded, "but that thing with Debbie? Come on Alan, you've been giddy since you got here –"

"Excuse me for being pleased to see you!"

"Hey, I'm pleased too," Scott raised his hands defensively, "believe me, it's great that you're here, and I'm really looking forward to having you out with me tonight." He smiled, trying not to lecture, "All I'm saying is be careful: you've been travelling, you're tired, and tonight we'll be all hyped up and drinking, and engaging in the illegal activity of sneaking you in places you shouldn't be. Just remember not to do anything too impetuous; you don't need a babysitter, and I sure don't want to be in Mother Hen mode."

Alan hummed, considering the words, "You _are _a pain when you're in that mode."

Scott smiled again, eyes seeking his brother's, trying to gauge his reaction.

Alan's arms were still folded, and he looked irritated at being warned against immaturity. But he only left his older brother hanging for a moment before he smiled grudgingly: "I'll be good."

* * *

Humid warmth hit the brothers squarely as they entered the Rose and Lion pub, laughter and music enveloping them and washing away the misty cold of the street.

"I haven't been here in years," Scott was grinning with nostalgia, eyes sweeping everywhere around him.

"Have you only been working and sleeping the whole time you've been out here? God Scott, get a life."

"I'm not that bad," the elder dismissed absently, leading them through the crowded bar area. But they didn't get far before Scott was practically tackled by a blonde man who was making his way from the other direction.

"Scoooooott, you fackin' beauty!"

"Hey Ben!" Scott's voice sounded as though it was squeezed from him as his friend engulfed him in a fierce, heavy hug. "I should've known you'd beat us here."

"You must be joking, you two are the last. Fashionably late. Bloody colonials."

"Yeah yeah," Scott shoved Ben's shoulder, then indicated his brother. "You guys get my message? This is the famous Alan. Alan, this is Ben. We lived on the same corridor at Balliol College – they stuck us right at the end of the hall, the Cockney and the American. We figured they were lumping all the undesirables together, for tidiness.”

But Ben had no time for reminiscing. He seized Alan's shoulders seriously and looked him straight in the eye, "Alan, please tell me you've come here to drink. You look sturdy enough. But then that doesn't mean much; your brother here looks perfectly able, and I can't count the times we’ve ended these nights with us mopping up his sick. We had to work out a rota in the end."

"Okay, first of all: bullshit," Scott knocked his hands off Alan's shoulder's without ceremony, "and second of all: human life isn't _designed _to keep up with the amount you drink. So you're the freak, not me."

"Christ, you're a wuss," Ben shook his head with affectionate pity. "This round's on me. Two pints, right?"

"Only if you mean one each," Scott dryly responded.

"Yeah yeah, I'll see if they can put a cherry and a little umbrella in yours, Scott. Anyway, everyone else is back there, go and get yourselves sat down."

The welcome was just as warm when they rounded the corner: a group of about a dozen people all cheered a greeting as the brothers approached two small tables they were squeezed around, and a happy, playful chatter ensued about everything from their time-keeping to their make-up choices. Alan self-consciously hung back as Scott moved around the group, heartily greeting people individually. He waited to be introduced, but someone else beat Scott to it.

"So you must be Alan," a brunette woman jumped up from the table. She looked a touch older than Scott, and she was tall with a great big smile. Alan warmed to her immediately.

"I'm Jen, that's my husband Greg," she indicated a man sitting across the table, who waved. "Come on, come on, sit down." They pulled up some bar stools, and squashed into the limited room of the tables, but in the meantime Jen barely paused for breath:

"Room for one more, come on, we're all very friendly, and only two of us bite." She started indicating other people round the table. "This is Simon, Tez, Dawnie, Greg you know, Cam, Lauren, Jez, Alan – another Alan, I mean –" she added, as if he might indeed have mixed up the stranger across the table with himself, "– then Toby and Rach at the end there. I hope you listened carefully, there _will _be a test."

Greg leaned towards him, smiling gently, "You look like a man who could use a drink." Alan sincerely hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. "Is your brother spotting this round?"

"Actually we ran into Ben at the bar and he said he had it covered."

"Good stuff," smiled Greg. He had a lilting Welsh accent that Alan liked, "Ben won't leave you thirsty. Glad you could join us Alan; the more the merrier."

He offered his hand and they shook, and Alan felt himself relax some, grateful for their attentiveness.

Then Scott was at his side, pulling up another stool, and Alan relaxed even further. His brother was clearly brimming with excitement, flashing him a very wide smile and squeezing an arm around his shoulders briefly. And then something cold and wet hit their necks and they jumped.

"Hey, watch it!" Scott yelped. Ben was leaning over their heads, depositing two dribbling pints of beer on the table in front of them. Sure enough, one had a cocktail umbrella in it.

"You're fackin' welcome," Ben squeezed back into his place the over-full table, and stood impressively over everyone else, holding his own pint high. "Right then, you lot, it's on! They said we'd never get here. They said time travel was not possible. But here we are, back in the Rose, back on the town, and back to the sweet student life once again!" He paused a moment for the laughter and cheers to ebb, before continuing with grandeur:

"Let's please take a moment to reflect on the solemnity of the occasion –"

_Hear hear, _someone chimed.

"– on how honoured we are to re-live the past even in the older, tireder bodies we now inhabit."

_Speak for yourself, _someone else heckled.

"Let's truly commit ourselves to re-living the essence of what we had,” Ben paused impressively, commanding his audience with impressive gravity. “We have a responsibility to our future selves not to squander this opportunity that may never again occur."

_Are they paving over Oxford, or something? _Laughter.

"Let it truly be an authentic Balliol-slash-Maths-slash-the-rest-of-you night out, as in days gone by. Let it be that Cam will lose at least one shoe –"

_Not these ones, they're bloody expensive. _

"– let it be that Dawnie will have inappropriate fights with taxi drivers about immigration law –"

_For the last time, he started it!_

"– let it be that Scott will both vomit and score with some skank over the course of the evening, and hopefully the two won't overlap –"

_Hey!_

"– and let it be that I will continue in my witty, handsome, virile way as always, ever a shining beacon to you all as to what can be achieved with brains, looks and sex-appeal. Ladies and gentlemen, to tonight!"

_To tonight!_

They all laughed and toasted. Alan took a long pull of the refreshing beer, listening to the group talk amongst themselves again. He'd have to make sure he drilled them for the best stories of Scott's college days, for maximum blackmail potential.

Scott elbowed him as he returned his pint to the table, "Have you told them how you got here?"

"I got here on a plane," Alan told Greg, Ben and Jen sarcastically, "it's not much of a story, but Scott's obsessed with them."

They laughed derisively. "Did you get a little bag of peanuts, and everything?" Jen gasped in over-amazement.

"_And _a lemon-scented face wipe," he replied impressively. They _ooo_d with awe.

Scott elbowed him again, "Ha-ha-ha. Wanna hear how gullible I am? So I'm at my apartment and I've had a shitty day, and then there's a knock at the door –"

And between them the brothers related the story. The raucous laughter it elicited was music to Alan's ears, and before long he was holding his own, happily keeping up with their fast-paced discussions. Scott excused himself a while later to go to the bathroom, and Alan barely noticed while he was gone.

* * *

The walk to the club wasn't a long one, but it was enough for Alan to forget the warmth and security of the pub that he'd enjoyed over the last couple of hours. Nerves started tugging at him in earnest as they rounded a corner and he saw the brightly-lit sign for _Blackjack_, a venue that, according to those still in residence around Oxford, played an acceptable mix of decent music, enough to keep everyone happy.

Rain misted him and he distractedly ran his fingers along his make-up line, hoping that it wasn't smudging and blowing his cover.

Scott walked at his side, smoking a cigarette and chatting to pink-haired Cam about an article they'd read in the latest New Scientist. She seemed nice, certainly friendly and very smart. Alan enjoyed the cerebral subject matter and had been chipping in, but as they got closer to the club he'd thought of less and less to say. If he didn't get in he'd ruin Scott's night out, and look like an idiot baby in front of all these people.

That thought hurt, and for a moment anger boiled up in him. It seemed Scott had forgotten that there was no guarantee that the approaching situation would go in their favour. Alan examined the sidewalk as they trudged onwards, adjusting his make-up line again. He felt stupid. This wasn't going to work.

Then he felt Scott's hand land lightly on his shoulder, though he was still addressing Cam: "I'm just going to lose this cigarette end, see you up there."

"Yeah, see you boys in a sec," Cam replied, wandering onwards. Scott gently led Alan aside with him to a trash can.

"How you doing, kid?"

Alan shrugged and stared at the ground, not energetic enough even to snap at him.

Scott stubbed the last of the cigarette out on the trash can and pushed the butt into the ends tray. "Don't worry. I've been to this club a couple of times since I’ve been back, they're pretty cool. And even if it doesn't happen, so what? Haven't we had fun? Even if we end up heading home earlier than we planned?"

"I don't want that to happen." Alan mumbled, feeling lousy.

"Alan, don't worry. Just relax," Scott smiled. He was using his 'trust your big brother, you moron' voice. And even though he was comforted some, Alan still considered kicking him, the smug ass.

Now more of their group was coming up the street towards Blackjack, and the brothers joined them. Scott kept Alan at his side, falling into conversation with the others and looking like he didn't have a care in the world. Alan wanted to copy him, but he was too edgy. He found himself in an old habit of playing numbers in his head, trying to occupy his mind and keep the guilty look off his face.

_2 squared is 4, squared is 16, squared is 256... _

They all trooped towards the club door, and the bouncer, dressed all in black with hands tucked into her pockets for warmth, nodded with gentle familiarity to some in the group. She was a dumpy, middle-aged woman, who wore a large black puffer coat and an expression of bored, efficient capability. She looked tough as old boots to Alan.

_...squared is 65,566... no 65,536, divided by 8 is 8,192, halved is 4,096..._

"Hey Linda!" Scott called, a little more boisterously than was his norm. "We're having a reunion."

"Good for you," Linda barely moved, the faintest trace of amusement in her eyes as they started piling through the door. Alan kept his eyes low as he started up the steps with Scott.

_...by 5 is 20,480, by 3 is – _

Linda's hand shot out and seized Alan's arm as he passed. His heart leapt with shock and dread. But he tried to look innocent, inadvertently widening his eyes and making him look even younger.

"How old's your friend, Scott?"

Scott grinned widely, falling back down the steps and throwing an arm around Alan's shoulder, "This is my brother, he's twenty-one today." He seemed to reconsider, "No wait, we're in England, so he's eighteen today."

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the audacity of Scott's very obvious and apathetic lie, but otherwise she didn't move. _Yikes, is she stoic, or something? _Alan's mind raced. _Give me something to go on, lady, for God's sake!_

Scott grinned wider, and added, "He's also very well-behaved. Just like me," and fluttered his eye-lids at her.

Linda raised an eyebrow, possibly unsure if she should take the last part of his statement seriously. The second that she held his brother's eye seemed like an eternity to Alan.

But then her hand was gone, and with a slight incline of her head, she nodded them in.

"You're the best, Linda, I love you," Scott called excitedly as the brothers ran up the steps. "Seriously, wanna get married? Let's get married!"

Alan looked back to see the bouncer roll her eyes slightly, but that was all. Talk about energy efficiency.

* * *

Within five minutes they were paid in, hands stamped, coats checked, and walking out onto the balcony leading into the heart of Blackjack. The music and heat and noise embraced them like old friends, and they took a happy moment to survey the delicious potential of it all.

Alan turned to Scott, and noticed his eyes again, shining with satisfaction and anticipation. But it seemed he couldn't help himself, calling instructions over the noise even as they strolled down the stairs that led them into the thick of things.

"Stay away from the bar, you could still get carded and kicked out. Get one of us to get you a drink if you want one. Don't drink anything that we don't get you; you don't know what could be in it. Try to keep a low profile –"

Alan swatted his brother's arm, mostly to interrupt but he wouldn’t be surprised if it stung on landing. Their eyes met, and Scott smiled, conceding. "Let's have some fun."

"What a great idea," his brother sounded amazed. "Really, I don't know how you keep coming up with them."

"Ha ha."

"Do the people at Mensa know about you?"

"I get it. Now stop being an ass or I won't buy you a drink."

"Water, please," Alan grinned, already heading for the dance-floor. "I've got some moves to bust." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! The bad behaviour starts to ramp up from here, I'm sad (I mean delighted) to report :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good night gets great. Alan finds his groove, and Scott finds some soft lips.

Chapter 4

Alan loved the feel of the music. The bass reverberating through him with every beat; the melodies filling his head; the rhythms getting under his skin and into his blood. He'd thrown himself unreservedly into dancing for at least an hour, and felt complete, care-free elation permeating his every move. After everything – the hassle of travel and the high of seeing Scott and the worry over tonight – it was a perfect catharsis.

It was also a popular one. Jen and Dawnie had been on the dance-floor at least as long as him, delighted at his endurance and enthusiasm to rival their own. And the rest of them came and went as the songs led them. It was an ideal way to spend a night, as far as Alan was concerned.

The current song mixed into the next, and Alan grinned as he recognised it, wiping his face in the heat and adjusting his moves accordingly. The music here really was a good mix; enough current stuff to keep him interested, enough classic anthems to have Scott periodically appear and join in. Those songs usually became a bit silly, as the brothers tried to out-ridiculous each other's dance moves. The general consensus seemed to be that they were ridiculous as each other.

But Alan hadn't seen Scott in a little while. He looked up interestedly above him. The dance-floor was on a lower level than the bar, and there was lots of people standing around above them, chatting and watching the dancing, but he couldn't spot his brother. Not that he was concerned; he knew that several of their group had staked out and secured a booth somewhere up there, and Scott had been hovering between them and the bar and the dance-floor as the mood took him.

Alan continued happily for a while longer with Jen, Dawnie, Cam and Simon for company. And then Greg turned up to join in, and called to him over the music, "Your brother's up on the roof, he said go see him."

* * *

Scott took a deep drag on his cigarette as he ordered two bottles of water. The roof bar was smaller than the one inside, but they hadn't run dry yet, so they were fine by him. And a place to drink and smoke at the same time was a delectable rarity these days.

He saw a glistening, flushed-looking Alan come up the stairs from inside the club and grinned. His brother waved cheerfully and started towards him. His shirt was clinging to him with perspiration, but it was just enhancing his look. Scott noticed the eyes of a nearby group of girls turn to Alan immediately, and follow him as he passed, but his brother didn't notice.

"Here," Scott said as soon as he was close enough, throwing a bottle of water over to his younger brother. "I thought a little more hydration wouldn't hurt."

"Thanks," Alan caught it easily and followed Scott as he led the way to a tall table they could perch at. It was covered by a wide canopy, but currently the rain seemed to have eased off. The air tasted clean and crisp to Alan after the humid heat of the indoors.

"God, that's some good music," Alan enthused as Scott took a long drink from his beer bottle, talking louder than he meant with his ears still pounding. "I think I'll come here every week."

"Sure. And Dad will definitely understand the jump in your expenses. I can't see why he wouldn't be delighted."

"Exactly." At that moment, another of Alan's many favourite tracks started up from downstairs. He gave an urgent noise and made to run to the door, but Scott grabbed his shirt collar to keep him in place.

"Chill out. Just get five minutes of fresh air before you collapse."

Alan rolled his eyes, and indicated the cigarette, "What would you know about fresh air?" His brother laughed easily in response. "I thought you'd quit smoking, anyway."

"I have," Scott raised the cigarette to his lips again. "And I didn't buy any of the ones I've had tonight, so I haven't started again."

"That's bull."

"It's not. It's Science."

They laughed again, and Alan could see Scott had had a few drinks since they'd last spoken. He had that tipsy openness about him where he was usually more guarded.

"Come on. It's part college-regression, part recent break-up, part that vacation feeling." He took another deep drag, and Alan was tempted to ask him about the break-up part again, but thought better of it. He didn't want to spoil Scott's good mood.

So instead he shook his head, "You're such a hypocrite. If I started smoking you'd never let up on me."

"Damn right," Scott replied, holding the cigarette close to Alan's face with exaggerated seriousness. "Stay away from these, brother, they'll kill you. Terrible habit. You hear me?"

"Whatever," he took another large mouthful of cold water. "What have you been doing, then? Other than bumming cigarettes off of honest smokers?"

"Been talking, catching up. Ben got some rounds in – I'm glad you weren't there for that, he's an idiot. But we drank what he bought us, so we're idiots too."

"Careful, Scott," Alan grinned evilly, "Ben said you'd puke. Sounds to me like he's trying to engineer the circumstances to prove himself right."

His brother shook his water bottle, "Hence the H2O."

A couple of women passed closely by their table, and they both gave Scott an appreciative glance on their way. Scott smiled back effortlessly, and the women giggled as they continued on. Alan shook his head.

"It bugs me that you make that look so easy."

Scott tapped his cigarette on the edge of the ash-tray, "I hear you don't do too badly."

"From who?"

"Gordon."

"Why would you believe anything Gordon says?" But Alan's smile was slightly shy and knowing, eyes fixed on his bottle. Scott chuckled lightly.

"You were getting some heat five minutes ago, and you didn't even notice." He indicated the group of girls over near the door, and Alan looked them over with interest. They seemed pretty young for their environment, maybe eighteen, all clad in what almost seemed to be a uniform of short dresses and high heels. Their heads were together over their bottles of vodka cocktails, talking and laughing. Very nice.

Alan became aware that Scott's grinning attention was back on him. He smiled and shrugged, indicating that they were passable.

"You thinking you might have a go? Need a wingman?"

Alan shook his head, "Nah, I'm not it the mood tonight."

Scott looked alarmed, "But Alan, you're a sixteen-year-old guy. You'd have to be dead not to be in the mood!" He put his hand on Alan's forehead, checking his temperature, "You're not dead, are you, Alan? I'd never hear the end of it if you died."

Alan jerked his head away, "Well, what can I say Scott? Not everyone suffers the chronic lack of self-control that you do."

His brother laughed warmly. It was a common joke amongst the fellas that Scott was a bit of a slut, but the teasing didn't seem to bother him too much.

"I just wanna relax and dance," Alan continued, "I'm a little tired to be impressing people. You know, trying to string coherent sentences together, and stuff."

"Yeah, I know you find sentences difficult," Scott said gently, patting Alan on the head. Alan trod on his foot in response.

"How about you? You going to be picking anyone up?"

Scott stubbed his cigarette in the ash-tray. "I dunno. We'll see who's about."

"Getting choosy in your old age?"

"Bite me, Alan."

A breeze caught them suddenly, and Scott saw Alan shiver. So he collected his water bottle from the table and inclined his head.

"Come on, let's go dance."

They strolled past the group of girls again, who huddled closer together as they approached, talking lower and distractedly playing with their drinks straws. Alan's eyes swept over them as he passed, and he gave them a teasing smile which was coyly reciprocated. He heard giggles erupt behind them as he and Scott started down the stairs, and the brothers smiled together.

"Piece of cake," Scott grinned.

They negotiated the busy bar area together and headed for the railing, so they could look down on the dancers. Alan was hurriedly chugging his water and frowned at Scott.

"Come on Scott," he called over the loud music, "hurry up, this song's great!"

"Just like the next one will be, I bet," Scott called back, rolling his eyes. "Will you just relax?"

But the rhythm was biting into Alan again, and he moved with the music and with impatience. He leaned over the railing, spying the people he knew and waving. Dawnie and Jen were still going strong and waved back. Ben was also down there, looking pretty intense and throwing some interesting shapes. Alan guessed at a glance that Ben was a good few drinks ahead of anyone else. And strong drinks, at that.

Alan was just about to tell Scott that he was on his own with his stupidly slow rehydration, when a barmaid appeared at their shoulders. She had a beer, and apparently it was for Scott.

"From the lady over at that table," she grinned, indicating a booth across the room. The brothers' eyes shot over to follow her finger, and they saw a table of four very lovely-looking women. One on the end was hiding her face in her hands and the others were laughing. Alan watched a big smile spread over Scott's face as he toasted the table, and they fell about giggling again.

"Actually Alan, I might sit this song out. I'm a little thirsty."

"Shocker," Alan slapped his brother on the shoulder, and he ran happily back down the stairs and into the welcoming music and heat and the cheers of their friends. He glanced up at where Scott had been standing a moment ago, but he wasn't there. Alan smiled ruefully, knowing exactly which table he'd find Scott at if he needed to.

* * *

God, her lips were soft... Scott's head swam deliciously as he pressed into her closer, pushing her back against the wall. His fingers laced through her short blonde bob and he kissed her again, hearing her little moans despite the heavy volume of the music. He dropped his enthusiastic lips to her cheek, her neck, inhaling her perfume and the hint of sweat beneath.

He and Beth had hit it off very easily. He'd gone over to thank her for the drink, and despite her initial shyness he could tell immediately what she was interested in. And between her sweet smile, refined London accent, and lean, curvy body, Scott was completely on board.

A few laughs with her and her friends, a few good long glances mixed in, and they were away. The rest of the table had to be thirsty by now, because Scott and Beth had gone to get the next round in at least thirty minutes ago. They'd got a little distracted on the way...

Her fingers were buried in his hair encouragingly as his lips found hers again, and Scott smiled happily into the kiss. Generally he was a person who interested in people. He liked the opportunities that social environments could create: that really great story; that really useful connection; that really funny joke.

And quite often, that really sexy fling. Two people who just want to relax and have fun and make each other satisfied. Despite the flippancy with which the fellas referred to his choices in this area of his life, he didn't usually regret pursuing the chance to get to know someone this way.

Her bold fingers were running down his firm stomach, sneaking lower, and he groaned. He felt like he knew her better already...

Suddenly she snorted and giggled, then within moments she was laughing into his mouth. She pulled back, smiling with surprise.

"I’m that bad, huh?"

Beth shook her head, shaking with infectious laughter that had Scott chuckling too. Finally she caught her breath, "It's just, it's my phone. I have it on vibrate."

"So?"

By way of explanation, Beth reached into her top, and retrieved a cell phone from within one of her bra cups. And they were both gripped with laughter at the silliness of it all. Not to mention the alcohol.

As they recovered, he managed to ask: "And what's it doing in there?"

"This outfit didn't have any pockets."

"Of course, silly me," Scott reached out his hands to her hips, pulling her closer again. "But have I mentioned how nice you look tonight? I mean, even pocketless, it's still a really great outfit."

She snickered knowingly as he nuzzled her ear, "I don't think you did mention." She wiggled her pelvis where it connected with his, "But I could've guessed."

She leaned in for another deep, lingering kiss, before pulling back, "Now, you just behave for a sec. I have to check this message. My housemate's out tonight, but apparently she's bumped into her Ex so she's coming here to have us sympathise with her."

Scott wiped his brow on the cuff of his shirt, the heat of the club heightened by their own exertions. "That's too bad. Is she okay?"

Beth rolled her eyes as she typed a text, "She bloody should be, they broke up months ago. But she still flies off the handle whenever she sees him, and picks fights with women she reckons he's been out with." She finished the text and looked up at him with a shrug, pulling her top out to replace the phone between her breasts. "She's just stubborn, and we're all sick of how immature she's being now, to be honest."

Scott managed to make a sympathetic noise at the right time, though he'd been following her activities in and around her bra more than anything else. He realised Beth was giggling again and sensed he was busted, so stared even more blatantly for the fun of it. She shimmied her top-half for his entertainment, before wrapping an arm round his neck to pull him closer, and lifting his head so that their eyes met.

Scott sighed happily, feeling the luxurious fog of warmth and booze and lust hugging into him. He could help but grin at how adorable Beth looked, her eyes clearly seeing a world equally rose-tinted, and her previously immaculate hair mussed and clinging slightly to her perspiring face. He couldn't wait to get her home.

"Oh no you don't," Beth grinned as Scott tried to pull her to him again. "Mindy is going to be here in the next five minutes, and if I have to listen to her whinge on about Martin and his Latest Skank –” she pulled Scott closer, resting her forehead on his and lowering her eyelids seductively– then we have to start drinking immediately. And heavily."

She licked at his lips teasingly, before disengaging herself and heading towards the bar, swinging her butt purposely as she walked. She could have been inviting him to join her for a swim in a vat of acid for all it mattered. Scott knew he would still have happily followed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in updating! Chapter Five soon. Thanks so much for reading :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's had his fun, now it's Alan's turn... :D 
> 
> Watch out for heavy swears ahead, tempers are going to fray.

Chapter 5

_The music was soft from the stereo, but it seemed thick in the air. Thick and succulent, and it thrilled through the living room as he leaned in closer to her. After the lousy turn the evening had taken, he felt sheer, fuzzy contentment as he looked into the pretty face smiling up at him. Contentment and desire… _

_His brother was crashed out on the couch, dead to the world. The others had left. His fingers gently brushed her cheek and she turned her face to the touch, so sensual and telling… Excitement gripped him and he leaned in to seize her lips, confidently ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him that this was a terrible, terrible idea… _

* * *

Alan couldn't help but eventually admit that it was all getting the better of him.

He'd been going strong since 4am by home's clock, and certainly had plenty to show for his efforts. But finally Alan was starting to admit that he was getting tired. Like, dog tired. Like, fall over dead tired. Gotta keep moving…

He took a break to wander up to the roof bar, partly to get some bracing fresh air again, but also keeping his eyes peeled for Scott. The place was still great, but any time from now would be a good time to head home in his book.

No Scott. But this time around he noticed that the view from the building was fantastic. Alan took a moment to lean against the low stone wall, gazing through the tall wire mesh that kept the roof bar safe for its merry patrons. Even with this restriction, _Blackjack_'s height helped to give him a glimpse across the city, wrapped in darkness but alive with pinpoint lights and the sounds of people out to have some well-earned fun. The skyline around him was lovingly disorganised; the famous spires of Oxford mixed in with their diversely-aged neighbours, as if such a wealth of history and culture was just a given. What the USA wouldn't give for even a fraction of all this.

Alan leaned his forehead on the wires and yawned, tired eyes closing despite his efforts. Okay, whimsy was clearly making him sleepier. He had to be pro-active. And first on the list was finding his wayward brother.

He looked around at the numerous punters at the bar again, seeing nothing but strangers, and it gave him a twinge of discomfort. For a horrible second he wondered if Scott might have left without him, to get her home. What was her name? Beth, he thought… When they'd come for a quick dance to a more sultry number, they'd been completely (and disgustingly) wrapped up in each other.

But the paranoia was short-lived. Insatiable Scott may be, but he'd probably be hurt at a suggestion he'd ever abandon someone vulnerable to go get laid.

He definitely wasn't up here. Alan shook his head to clear it and took a brisk breath. Right: Scott, then home. Well, bathroom, then Scott, then home. The relentlessly good dancing music hadn't left him a piss-break all night, and that was starting to wear on him too.

* * *

Scott couldn't help but eventually admit that it was all getting the better of him.

He'd matched Beth drink for drink since her crabby roommate had arrived. It hadn't been a wise idea: that little minx could drink. Goddamn vodka shots… Scott leaned back against the wall and tried not to look like he was relying on it too much. He wasn't yet completely unable to function, but he felt it wasn't far off. Fortunately Ben had happened by about ten minutes ago and confiscated his beer, correctly judging that it was neither wanted nor needed. Ben's comparable cognition was galling.

Beth stood a few feet away, leaning heavily on a drinks perch and looking very bored while Irritating Friend Mindy bitched away at her. Scott couldn't hear her with her back to him, but for that he was damn grateful. With what he'd already heard he was sure that a) Beth was a very put-upon roommate, b) Martin had had a lucky escape, and c) Mindy did not like Scott. Not at all.

He could care less what she thought of him. He couldn't take his eyes off Beth, who was failing more and more in keeping her attention on Mindy. She was throwing him long, lingering looks every chance she got, eyes full of promise and anticipation.

But Mindy whined on, "Christ, Beth, aren't you listening? Martin was all over her like he didn't even care I was there." She turned and gave Scott a dirty look, swished her dark hair dismissively, "Some men only care about a quick fuck."

Scott smiled at her winningly, because he knew it would really annoy her. She glared daggers at him, before turning her back again.

_Best view of you I've had all night_, thought Scott cheerfully, inner-Bitch completely irrepressible now.

And this was how Alan happened upon him, leaning awkwardly against the clammy wall, snickering at apparently nothing. Oh dear…

"Struck out?"

Scott indicated over to the girl hanging on Beth, "Unwelcome third wheel."

Alan took in the scene with too much enjoyment for Scott's liking, then handed his half-drunk bottle of water to Scott.

"I gotta go pee. And I'm exhausted, I'm going to leave soon. I can get a cab, if you give me the cash."

His brother frowned lightly, shaking his head heavier than was probably intended, "I don't want you getting a cab alone."

"Oh, you'd rather have an unwelcome fourth wheel too?" Alan winked. "Just go to hers, and I'll see you later. Honestly, I'll only have time to eat most of your food and poke through maybe two-thirds of your things before you're home again."

He wasn't sure how much of this Scott had actually heard, but he was smiling absently, and pulled his younger brother in for a one-armed hug, ruffling his hair in a way that Alan tended to endure with affectionate distain. When he managed to prise free, he continued:

"Gimmie some cash, then I'm gone."

"Promises promises," Scott grinned, before shaking his head again. "We'll all go, I'll put you in a cab myself and check the driver knows exactly where he's going, and pay him double to make sure you get there in one piece."

Alan rolled his eyes, but knew it was a waste of time to say anything. He could see Scott's brain, sodden though it was, was already putting the plan into action. He rummaged in his pocket before producing his phone. "I'll text everyone. Cam and I think Jez live between here and mine, they may want in. We can go in a minute."

"Make it five," Alan replied, the need to pee suddenly worse than ever. "Where's the bathroom?"

* * *

Alan strode down the corridors that led to the bathroom, accidentally rubbing at his make-up for what must have been the millionth time that night. He wiped his smudged hand against his pants and couldn't hold back another yawn as he did so. The heavy music of the club was muted back here, and his tired brain appreciated the small reprieve.

He rounded the corner a little too urgently, and suddenly his entire field of vision was taken up by milky skin and two of the largest green eyes he'd ever seen. Slamming the brakes on so that he only slightly trampled the person coming the other way, he was all stammered apologies as his hands caught slim, bare arms and he righted himself.

Alan recognised her as one of the pretty girls from the roof bar, and couldn't keep from blushing a little at the less-than-smooth encounter. Belatedly he realised that he was still holding her arms, and released her awkwardly as his mouth worked, trying to think of something – anything – to say. But before he could the moment passed, her eyes had dropped shyly and a quiet giggle escaping from her small, smiling mouth.

Then she was gone, hurrying past him towards the club. He watched her go, eyes sweeping over her light glossy hair and long bare legs with interest, before his body reminded him once again why he'd been in a hurry in the first place.

Finally he found the bathroom, and he stepped up to the urinal with some relief. Most of his brain was now saturated with a blank tiredness, but his hit-and-run girl had taken up quiet residence in the back of his mind. She and her pretty friends and their seemingly endless supply of long legs and short dresses and sweet smiles… Alan shook his head ruefully and he finished up and went to wash his hands: he could barely keep his eyes open, so there was no chance of doing anything about it tonight. Maybe he could talk Scott into bringing him back here later in the week. At his full strength, he'd love a go at tempting one of those cuties away from the pack. No reason Scott should be having all the fun.

Alan inspected himself in the mirror over the sink and was surprised to find that, although the edges were not as crisp as they had been, his make-up was pretty much intact. Debbie had obviously loaned them the good stuff. He just hoped it wouldn't take surgery to remove.

He was still mulling this over as he left the bathroom, and so didn't realise he was once more walking head-long into a lovely lady until they were nose-to-nose. His eyes widened and breath sucked in with surprise, but otherwise he managed to stay outwardly cool this time. This was a different one from the same group, with dark hair framing her heavily made-up face. She was almost his height, and as she smiled he suddenly felt he was nose-to-nose with a predator.

"Who are you?" she asked, raising a hand to his chest. Her accent was strong, but he couldn't place where in England she might be from. London-ish, maybe. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the rest of the group looking on from the bottom for the corridor.

"Alan," he replied, frowning slightly at her aggressive manner. She didn't really seem to be his type, but he certainly wasn't going to back down from the implied challenge in her eyes. "Why, who are you?"

"You're American," she grinned wider.

"So?"

His nameless beauty took a possessive step even closer, pressing her lips together and eying him with roguish interest. His pulse kicked up but he held his ground, refusing to look cornered.

"I think you're gorgeous."

That was his only warning before she was on him, lips pressed hard to his. His eyebrows climbed his face but instinct over-ran surprise and he was kissing her back, hands automatically finding her waist as she pushed up against him and moved him backwards. He felt her fingers running up to his hair, body leaning into him possessively. Alan usually preferred to drive, but he wasn't about to argue right now.

In a second he was backed up against the wall, holding her firmly as their kiss deepened. God, this was great. Alan took full advantage of the unexpected opportunity, tongue exploring her mouth of his enthusiastic partner as she returned the favour. His hands ran up her back and down again, settling on her on her hips and pulling her even closer.

Tiredness be damned, he could've stayed there all night, just for the feel of her lips and the scent of her perfume. But eventually she pulled back. Alan opened his eyes just in time to see her throw him a cocky wink, and then she set off down the corridor into the whooping approval of her friends.

Alan just sighed and leaned casually against the wall, trying to look like these sorts of things happened to him all the time. Gordon was never going to believe this one.

* * *

If Scott's sobriety had been iffy before they left, the fresh air of the street outside _Blackjack_ was received like a punch in the face. With every move of his head the world swirled and took a second to catch up. He groaned as he leaned against the wall with Ben, who was smoking another cigarette and looking only marginally past his usual state of intoxication.

"You've been out of practice since you've been away. Don't they teach you anything useful in America?"

"Bite me, Benjamin." Scott groaned again, "Where the hell are Cam and Jez? We gotta find some cabs, we gotta go."

"I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get in a car, pal. Not unless you want to see that vodka again."

"I'm not gonna puke."

"'Course you're not," Ben was cheerful in his sarcasm. He offered Scott a drag, but he declined. Then there was the clatter of heels on the stairs, and Beth was there. She groaned as she snuggled into Scott against the wall, shivering a little in the cold night air but making no move to pull on the jacket wedged awkwardly under her arm.

"Ditched her?"

"I used up my last favour with Tara to rope her in as baby-sitter for the night."

Scott laughed, "Is she at least in a better mood now?"

"No, but I don't care," Beth pushed her damp blonde bangs away from her face. "Know anyone looking for a new housemate?"

"Hey, I'll consider it," he rolled his head over to look at her, grinning his most charming grin and concentrating on not slurring. "But I really ought to see the place first."

"Oh, really," she smiled.

"Yeah, it's only sensible. You know, check out the storage space. Be sure of the feng shui. I got some time now, wouldn't that be efficient?"

She laughed, and it was music to his ears. He leaned in to kiss her again, and they both happily ignored any clumsiness caused by the mutual necessity of hanging on to the wall.

Then Alan came careering down the steps, followed closely by Cam and Jez who were laughing raucously.

"Hey guys," Alan sounded damn cheery. "You look well, Scott. Not near collapse, or anything. Honest." He offered his brother a bottle of water, which was gratefully accepted.

"Scott, wait 'til Alan tells you what happened to him!" Cam enthused drunkenly.

Alan was looking a little smug as he shrugged his jacket on, "It is a good story."

"I dread to think." Scott blinked heavily and assessed their party. "Have we got everyone?"

Jez did a quick count as he dug out a cigarette.

“Let's see…” He indicated himself, “an incredibly handsome man –” then moved on to Ben and Cam, “– a Cockney and an old lush –” rounded on Scott and Alan, “– a couple of Yanks –” before finally alighting on Beth, “ – and a gorgeous blonde who is well out of your league. Pleased to meet you, I’m Jez.” He grinned at Scott, “All present and correct, sah."

"My shoes are really rubbing," Cam whined to no-one, plonking herself down on the sidewalk to adjust them.

"We'll need two taxis," Ben had his phone out and was scrolling though the numbers. "I'll call 001, they usually pick up at the square."

"We're going to get pizza though, right?" Jez sounded worried.

Scott took a few more gulps from the water-bottle, before steeling himself for The Big Push Away From The Wall. When both he and Beth managed to sustain the action with only the faintest wobble, he knew it was a good a chance as any to assemble his troops. "Cam, you about ready?"

Cam was still sitting on the floor, legs out in front of her and shoes discarded. She was trying to type a text on her cell, but it didn't look like it was going well. "Stupid opposable thumbs, totally over-hyped."

"Hmmm. Alan, give her a hand, will you? Jez, make yourself useful."

Between them they hoisted the decidedly squiffy Cam onto her bare feet. It wasn't the easiest of manoeuvres, and she went down more than once in a fit of giggles. Scott felt a twitch of irritation, which was soothed when he saw Ben was getting enough pictures of the whole debacle to make it fun for them tomorrow.

* * *

Forty minutes later, and everything was different. Forty minutes later and Scott's head was still reeling at how quickly it had all unravelled. The minivan cab pulled up at his apartment building and Jez leapt out to run and pay the pizza guy who had beaten them there. Alan was dozing and Cam was still singing loudly along to the radio despite their repeated and heartfelt requests that she wouldn't. Ben leaned over to Scott in the front seat, unlit cigarette already perched on his lips:

"Pay the man, Scott. And give me your key."

"You can't smoke in my apartment," Scott tried to move his head as little as possible whilst digging in his pocket.

"I love it when you're bossy. I'll go open your whisky for you."

"So helpful."

While he paid the fare he tortured himself once more with the memory of how it'd gone so wrong. How that pain-in-the-ass Mindy had got her way at last. God, what a bitch…

_They'd been waiting for their cabs, when a taxi from another company had hurtled past and come to a screeching halt opposite them. Scott and Beth had looked up from their determined necking to see a worse-for-wear Mindy jump out of the cab, causing another car to slam the brakes on rather than hit her. Beth swore with fright and pulled away, "Mind, what the hell!"_

"_Fuck you! Fuck all this, Beth, you don't care!"_

_Then Beth's friend Tara was clambering out of the taxi, clearly trying to smooth things over with the driver without losing visual on her errant ward. Scott's senses went onto overdrive, alertness trying to break through the alcohol and making him dizzy. Beth was trying to pull Mindy off the road, which was thankfully quiet, but she wasn't having much luck. _

"_You said when you moved in that we'd be closer, that you'd be there if I needed to talk, but you obviously don't give a toss. I'm sick of it." _

"_Mindy, you're pissed," Beth grabbed her arm and tried to pull her back. "For God’s sake, get off the road. You can get a taxi back with me and Scott." _

"_He's not coming back! I'm the owner and you're the tenant, and if he tries to enter my home then I'll call the bloody police."_

"_You can't be serious!"_

_Mindy wrenched her arm back and almost fell over in doing it. Then Tara appeared, having given up her attempts to keep the taxi. _

"_I'm so sorry Beth, she wouldn't listen!" _

"_Fuck off, Tara. Fuck off both of you," Mindy shoved Beth, which had snapped Scott out of his amazement and he darted forward to help her regain her balance. His presence hadn't soothed Mindy. _

"_You're not coming back to my house, you're not welcome." _

"_Really? I didn’t catch that, you’re really subtle."_

"_Scott, you're not helping," Beth was looking overwhelmed, rubbing her face with frustration. _

_Apparently Mindy was done. She'd made a dismissive noise and stalked off, and though Beth called her back it was pretty clear that she wasn't going to be persuaded. Tara went after her, and Beth turned back, looking upset. _

"_I can't leave her. Tara shouldn't have to be dealing with this, and Mind's had enough to drink to really do something stupid." She met his eyes, looking lost and desperate, and he ran his fingers down her cheek, trying to sooth, to help. And he wracked his brain trying to think of a suggestion that would fix this, that would give them back their light-heartedness and their plans for each other that night. He drew a miserable blank. _

"_This sucks."_

_She'd nodded mournfully. Then the screech of tyres was repeated down the street, and Beth took off at a run to catch up with the drama. And Scott and his friends were left staring after them as they disappeared into the night. _

_Leave it to Ben to rub salt in the wound. Once the rest had all sympathised at his bad luck, he threw a friendly arm around Scott's shoulder and said, "You could've got her number and met her another time. You fackin’ idiot."_

And now this cheerful bastard was in his kitchen, pouring everyone large measures of Scott's single malt whisky. Scott collapsed onto the couch with a sigh. It was not how he had hoped the evening would end.

He didn't know that the evening hadn't yet ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun reviewing this piece, Alan and Scott are such a laugh on a night out :D 
> 
> One more chapter to go. What could possibly go wrong...? :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night wasn't over! It probably should have been, though. Who makes good decisions at that time of night? 
> 
> A final chapter to wrap up Scott and Alan's adventure. There's going to be sore heads and smugness in the morning. And maybe some brotherly bonding too :)

Chapter 6

The stereo blared. The moon could just be seen shining brightly between the curtains. And Alan's stomach ached from laughing.

He sat on the couch, so tired that he felt reduce to the sum of his parts; an awkward collection of teenage arms and legs and miscellaneous, all now turned to lead by fatigue.

But it was _so _funny. His exhaustion was funny. His companions were funny. The coffee table was so funny. The inebriated Cam was sitting on the floor in front of him, and had spent a full five minutes attempting to tell a joke that she couldn't quite remember, and she routinely fell about laughing from remembering the punch-line, then from telling a part of it wrong, then from losing her place altogether, then from his hysterics in the face of the whole sorry affair.

"No, wait, wait," she gasped for breath, "did I say there was two of them in the boat? That's important later. There's two, not one, forget I said one."

"I'd like to forget the whole damn thing," Alan coughed on laughter again, sliding sideways on the couch without the strength to both hold himself upright and breathe at the same time. "Cam please, you have to stop. The actual joke can't possibly measure up to the attempt at telling it. You should just quit while you're ahead."

"No no, you're going to love this. Now, where was I…?"

"You were going to go and get me a drink Cam, it's you're round." It seemed that the coffee table made the demand, but Alan had an explanation when lifted his head just enough to see Jez's shoes poking out from the other side of it. He giggled again.

Cam was unfazed. "Fine fine, but when I get back I'm finishing this joke if it kills me. And all of you too."

Alan groaned at his still-spasming stomach muscles and lay back flat on the couch to stretch them. It gave him a perfect view of the other, smaller couch a few feet away, which also faced inwards to the coffee table. Ben and Scott were ensconced on said couch, nursing sodas with heads close together as they spoke back and forth. From Ben's arm slung around Scott's shoulder it looked like it could be a pep-talk, but Alan sincerely hoped it wasn't because his brother's expression would indicate it wasn't going well… He had the look of amused irritation that Alan now came to associate with Ben's presence. But he wasn't fooled: it wasn't so far from the face Scott pulled when his brothers were in the mood to bug him and he was in the mood to take it. There was a lot of affection there.

Alan sighed contentedly as he cushioned his head with his arm and assessed his brother closer. It had been fun to watch Scott get a little silly, to watch his internal perception of his ever-present responsibilities bob beneath a tide of recklessness, just for a little while. And the fact that Scott had been able to cut loose even with his littlest brother in tow was something that Alan took as a compliment. He would never have said it out-loud, but he was glad not to have let Scott down given the trust he'd shown him.

And he was definitely going to name his first daughter Linda, he thought lazily as he let his eyes drift closed... God bless that lovely, scary bouncer lady…

* * *

"…and _that's _why they call me Big Ben," came the triumphant end to the story. Scott tried to fight the laughter that threatened to seize his middle, and failed. He'd been sulking since they got home, his booze-soaked brain unable to get over the injustice of his missed opportunity with Beth. But Ben had refused to let him dwell on it, and in his own less-than-subtle style he had jollied him along until he was distracted enough to forget about it.

Well, mostly forget about it... The buzz of the lust and adrenaline had settled to an irritating itch in the back of his mind. He was looking forward to the morning when sobriety would put paid to it completely. He didn't generally like to drink as much as he had tonight, but between Ben's rounds and Beth's mission with the shots, he'd let himself get caught up more than usual.

_But so what?_ he thought warmly as he sighed with contentment. _It hadn't done any harm, and they'd all had a great time. _If the hysterics from across the room before were anything to go by, then the good times were still going on. He smiled across at his youngest brother, now dozing gently on the other couch. The make-up was still caked on across his eyes; Scott wasn't even sure how to remove something to resilient.

Drunken Cam stumbled back towards the group with a couple of cold drinks, and the klutz managed to tip a good measure over his snoozing brother. Apparently the presence of the couch had pulled her up short. He frowned with deep irritation as Alan jumped, and he looked for somewhere to put down his soda so he could go and sort Cam out. She was such a chore when she got this drunk…

But Alan just shot her a grin and flicked his soggy fingers back at her face, splashing her lightly. Some mutual face-pulling, and she was off again, successfully steering past the edge of the couch and staggering over to pester Jez instead.

Scott smiled gently, sitting back again and watching as Alan's fatigue finally claimed him and his brother's eyes closed heavily. He wondered vaguely when this mellower Alan had come along anyway. Instinct told him that he hadn't seen the last of his favourite hot-head, but it was an interesting – and somewhat reassuring – development.

"This is a good song!" Ben called the exclamation to no-one in particular, toasting the room with his soda.

"That must be tonight's goddamn catchphrase," Scott closed his eyes and rolled his head back on the couch. After tonight he was going to sit in silence for a full month, and he was going to love it.

Ben ignored him as usual, seizing the remote and increasing the stereo volume just a little further. Again. "Who knew that someone with such a severe haircut could have such an acceptable music collection? Fortunate you came to Oxford when you did, clearly I rubbed off on you at the critical moment."

"Ben, you have a way with words that turns my stomach."

"Scott!" It was Cam. "I can't find my shoes!" Oh brother…

Ben laughed happily, "Called it. Didn't I call it? But sadly my clairvoyance is not what it was." His arm was jamming itself around Scott's shoulder again, but the older Tracy brother kept his eyes closed. Maybe if he played dead, Ben would stop talking for once… "Young Mr Tracy's failure to vomit and to score have completely loused up my success rates. Touché, young Mr Tracy. Your decision to spite me by becoming a grown-up is hurtful. But as you know, Talisker heals all wounds."

Scott heard the tell-tale glug of more whiskey hitting Ben's glass, but it made him smile more than anything. Jerk. He had every intention of proving his friend entirely wrong, and he would start by keeping his eyes closed and his head still against the couch cushions, resisting the orbital pull of his still-spinning brain.

Someone inched the volume on the stereo up a little higher again, but a peek over at the other couch told him that Alan didn't stir. He really was out for the count. Cam bumbled around, looking for her shoes that Scott now felt fairly confident were on the sidewalk outside Blackjack. Ben struck up a conversation with Jez about a TV show they mutually worshipped. Everything was warmth and hum of a good party getting going.

_BANG BANG BANG_

The sharp raps at the door hit Scott like frigid water. He sat up with a jolt, head swimming uncomfortably again. His friends fell silent, eying each other, daring each other to be the first to laugh.

_BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG_

Scott swore as he leapt up from the couch, ignoring his companions and their '_ooo_'s – the international signal for "_you're in trouble_". What time was it, anyway? How loud had they got? He hadn't been concentrating, he should have controlled it better…

He pulled the door open, and for a second he didn't recognise the woman in the hall. The blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, the towel robe looked like it wasn't intended for prime time. Belatedly he realised it was the absence of her long fake eyelashes that was throwing him off.

"Debbie –"

"I am _livid_ with you, Scott! You _know_ I'm working earlies!" Debbie wasted no time, and as usual her voice carried. Her eyebrows – thin without their usual cosmetic enhancement – were drawn into the most severe frown he'd ever seen on her. In fact - Scott cringed to realise it - the _only_ frown he'd seen on her. This woman only ever had kindness for him. She didn't deserve this disrespect.

"Debbie, you're right, I'm _so_ sorry." Scott felt failure in the face of her justified anger, and went into overdrive. "We got caught up, I didn't realise –"

"It's bloody ridiculous, is what it is," she yelled back at him, "I'm supposed to be out by half five, I'm gonna feel like death at this rate."

Scott glared over his shoulder, "You wanna shut off that noise?", and someone finally reduced the volume of the stereo. Debbie glared at all of them once more for good measure, then made to go. But Scott couldn't entertain leaving it there and followed her into the hall, catching her arm.

"No Debbie, wait, don't go, I am so sorry."

"So you should be." She still had an edge to her voice and a glare in her eye, but she didn't pull away at least.

"You're right, you're _so_ right. I should have had a better handle on these idiots." He stepped a little closer, inviting confidentiality. "Can I tell you a secret? I think they've been drinking."

He saw her try to fight the joke, try to keep glowering at him, and he slid her a contrite, tentative smile to make sure she couldn't pull it off. She shook her head as she regrouped.

"Scott, believe me, I'm not a party-stopper. Any other night of the week, I'm a party-starter."

She might have pulled off the gear-shift from furious to playful if she hadn't pulled absently at her tatty robe at the same time. It was cute instinct, and he grinned charmingly, "Oh, I believe you."

"Yeah, well," Debbie seemed at a loss, looking back down towards her apartment. He suddenly remembered that she must be exhausted, and he felt awful all over again. He was determined to make this up to her.

"Debs, don't go. You have to stay for a nightcap."

"What? No, I can't," she pulled self-consciously on her clothes again. "I need my beauty sleep."

Scott raised an eyebrow, "I don't think so." His appreciative glance was not subtle, and he blamed the alcohol. But also he reasoned that Debbie probably wasn't one for subtlety in general. He smiled again, eyes on hers, trying to tempt her into forgiving him. She glanced towards his apartment, looking torn.

"Come on, Debs, you're the guest of honour. You were our hero tonight. Alan never would have got into the club if it wasn't for you." He believed it, and a wave of gratitude mixed with his guilt. She really had saved the day. He _had_ to win her over. "I need to thank you. Please, come in, have a drink with me."

She lowered her eyes, smiling gently, and he knew he was almost there. His hand was still on her arm and moved his thumb gently against her.

"You were only saying earlier about a pyjama party. Look, you're even in your pyjamas, it's perfect." He threw her his special-occasion-absolutely-most-charming-smile-ever smile. "I'll go put mine on too, if it'll help?"

She snorted and swatted his arm, grinning. Then she held up a talon-tipped finger.

"One drink."

"Yesss," he fist-pumped in his enthusiasm, eliciting a laugh from her. Okay, so he was still a little drunk. But it seemed to be keeping her entertained and in a forgiving mood, so what the hell. He guided her into the apartment and closed the door.

"Debbie, these are the idiots I told you about. Idiots, this is Debbie."

"Nice bunny slippers." Ben's opening line was as politic as ever. Scott glared as he steered Debbie into the kitchen to get a drink.

* * *

Ben perched on the coffee table, leaning towards Debbie with suspicion.

"What do you mean, never?"

"Never ever. Never needed to," she threw him a wink and snorted a loud laugh.

"Ben, of course Debbie's never used that sleezy dating app," Scott reached forward for his glass again. "She's not slimy, like some people I know."

Since she'd arrived, everything in Scott's body language singled Debbie out for preferential treatment. He'd opened a new bottle of rum cocktail to make her drink. He'd liberated the good cushion from under Jez's snoozing head to make her more comfortable on the couch beside him. And now he was leaning forward, placing himself almost physically between her and whatever Ben might say next.

Ben sighed sympathetically. "I feel for you, Debbie." He jerked a thumb towards Scott, "This one moved in down the corridor and there went the neighbourhood. Same thing happened to me at uni, between you and me. And unfortunately I'm so delightful that he keeps coming back."

Debbie's laugh was as shrill as ever, but Scott was finding its familiarity charming tonight. He grinned at her. Their unlikely hero.

"Debbie doesn't need your opinions on this," he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, presenting a unified opposition to Ben. "She has excellent taste in neighbours."

Debbie shrugged, looking delighted, "What can I say? He wears nice jumpers."

"Nice jumpers," Scott concurred, nodding pointedly at Ben.

"Well, there's no accounting for taste," Ben sighed and drained his glass. His phone chimed a notification. "Ah ha, that's our cue. Cam, Jez, taxi's here!"

Getting Cam and Jez conscious and to the door was a laborious affair; they did not want to be awake and Ben had his work cut out for him. Scott would usually have helped, but honestly he was feeling pretty cosy where he was. He snuggled Debbie a little closer as he enjoyed the chaos. Let someone else deal with it for once.

The thought was deliciously selfish, and Scott couldn't help but laugh at Ben as he cajoled his wards into the hall. His final view of the circus leaving town was Ben flipping him the bird through the gap in the closing doorway. Then the comparative silence closed around them and he smiled down and Debbie, raising an eyebrow.

"And then there were two."

"Three, at last count," she blushed and laughed, pointing towards the other couch. Scott's eyes followed her gesture over to the still form of his sleeping brother. Sleep, right. That was sensible. She had work tomorrow. And he should set his brother up a more robust bed. All good stuff, all necessary. He should be sensible.

But there was a problem: he didn’t want to. The party high was still in him – not to mention that lustful itch – and he was enjoying himself and just didn’t want to be sensible. He found instead that he was appraising his brother's likelihood of waking anytime soon.

"Who, him? At a glance I'd say he's in orbit," Scott's eyes sparked naughtily as they slid back from Alan to Debbie. "Which just leaves you and me."

The music was soft from the stereo, but it seemed thick in the air. Thick and succulent, and it thrilled through the living room as he leaned in closer to her. After the lousy turn the evening had taken, he felt sheer, fuzzy contentment as he looked into the pretty face smiling up at him. Contentment and desire…

His brother was crashed out on the couch, dead to the world. The others had left. His fingers gently brushed her cheek and she turned her face to the touch, so sensual and telling… Excitement gripped him and he leaned in to seize her lips, confidently ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him that this was a terrible, terrible idea…

* * *

Alan's eyelids twitched against the steadily brightening sunlight. He moaned slightly against the warm but unwelcome intrusion, to no avail. The blinds hadn't been closed the night before, so the rising sun was coming in to join him. He was far from a naturally early riser, but jetlag and his unfamiliar surroundings wouldn't let him drift off again. He sighed with fatigued irritation: he was officially awake.

He scowled his annoyance at Scott's living room ceiling, but not for long. His mind wandered through the previous evening's events, and soon he found himself grinning with relaxed satisfaction. Yesterday had been a textbook Fantastic Day. His prank on Scott had gone beautifully; he'd run with a crowd a decade older than him; he'd danced like a demon. And mustn't forget, he chided himself with a grin, that extremely satisfying encounter outside the restrooms…

He gave a self-conscious chuckle and raised himself to sitting before he could begin to relive that fantastic kiss. Not smart, on Scott's living room couch. Time enough later.

It didn't take Alan long to access Scott's home IT network and sync his cell phone games with the TV, and within moments he was blasting zombies with an efficiency that belied his fatigue. He sunk lower into his slouch against the cushions and wondered how long he could continue before sleep returned.

But then he heard something that made his dulled senses re-focus. A woman's laugh. Muffled and brief, but definitely there. Alan turned his eyes slowly to the source: Scott's closed bedroom door.

Definitely there. And definitely familiar…

He spun his head back to the TV just in time as the door flung open, and the woman herself strode out with some energy.

"Aw, mornin' gorgeous," she cooed as she passed the couch, attempting to ruffle his hair on her way and succeeding only in pulling on the gelled spikes a little uncomfortably.

"Hey, morning," Alan smiled broadly, wide eyes fixed to the TV. He heard the apartment door open and he stole a glance at her as she left. Ratty robe, hair tousled, and a serious strut in her step. Go Debbie.

Alan clenched his jaw against the threatening hysterics, breathing carefully to keep control. He hadn't heard Scott's bedroom door close again. He stole a glance back and it nearly undid him: Scott's dishevelled form leaned against the doorframe, holding his robe around him with one hand and rubbing his closed eyes with the other. He did not look well. Sure, his bristled face was pale and clammy from the drink, but mostly he was mortification personified.

Alan's eyes returned to the TV, but he had a new game now: how long could he hold in the inevitable? His breathing was already pretty ragged, so probably not long.

After a moment he felt his brother sit gingerly beside him, taking out his own cell and tagging into the game without a word. They played in silence for a few moments, but it was clear that it couldn't last; Alan was nearly hyperventilating.

"Don't say a word."

Alan was in fits before Scott could even finish the sentence. He slid prone on the couch and howled with laughter, while Scott paused the zombies to rub his face with his hands again. Maybe, if he kept rubbing, somehow he could wipe away the last few decisions he'd made.

Alan went on laughing for a while. Frankly Scott thought he was milking it, but he knew when he had no upper-hand and he endured the derision with a quiet grimace, eyes closed against the sunlight. It was too bright. Illegally bright.

"Wow," Alan eventually choked out, sitting up with some difficulty as his chuckles continued. "Wow, wow."

"Alan, don't."

"I did not see that coming."

"Neither did I."

"She blindsided you, huh?" Alan's eyebrows climbed in surprised approval, and he reactivated the game. "Impressive. So, please: walk me through how you'll convince her you're not interested now."

Scott gave an embarrassed cough, and winced as a sharp twinge in his chest reminded him of last night's cigarettes. "Actually, that may not be necessary. She was giving me the spiel about 'casual' and 'it's not you it's me' before she left."

The game was once again forgotten as laughter gripped Alan once more. The indignity was too perfect. Between gasps he forced out, "You slept – you slept with your stalker – and it put her off?"

Scott exploded a zombie with chagrin, "What can I say? I only half-remember it. I can't have been bringing my A-game."

Alan howled again, wiped tears from his eyes. "Ouch. Maybe she'll let you try again to save your reputation. Or maybe she can teach you a thing or two."

"Alan, cut it out," Scott frowned as he lowered his cell. "This isn't good. This isn't right." He glanced uncomfortably at his younger brother out of the corner of his eye. "I don't want you –"

But he faltered, not finding the words, and lay back to stare at the ceiling with a sigh. Alan felt a twinge of sympathy as he understood: this could have been much worse, and Scott didn't want his brother emulating any of it.

Alan rose to sitting again, still smiling. "Don't worry, Scott, you don't always need to be a wonderful example for us. Sometimes you can be a terrifying warning."

For a moment Scott didn't respond. But then he rolled his head sideways to look at Alan properly, checking for sincerity in the back-handed statement. Alan met his gaze with an affectionate grin, and Scott returned a wry smile before dropping his eyes with lingering awkwardness.

Alan hoped that Scott's self-chastisement wouldn't be too severe, at least in regard to his little brother's front-row seat to his misstep. Of course, living this down was not an option and the teasing would go on for literally years, but Alan decided to throw him a line:

"Hey," he caught his brother's shoulder with an encouraging hand, "at least you didn't throw up."

Scott brightened as realisation sank in; Ben had been wrong about that, at least.

"Hey, you're right. That's something," Scott's smile was a little stronger this time, and he cocked a bleary eye at Alan. "I'll take it, anyway. Any port in a storm, little brother."

"Another amazing life tip from Scott Tracy," Alan settled back to the zombies. "You should shower, you smell."

Scott also raised his cell phone and joined the fight. "Well, I can fix a little BO. But what are you going to do about your unfortunate face?

Alan was unfazed, "This face was irresistible to _some _last night."

"Don't make me hurl."

"Ben would love it if you did." Alan dispatched another zombie and Scott winced at the volume of the gunshot.

"Ben's got issues."

Alan threw a grenade into a zombie group and watched the resultant carnage with dispassion. "I'm starving, Scott. Where are these full English breakfasts I've heard so much about?"

Scott rolled his head back on the couch again, letting his character fall to zombie onslaught, "Mmm. Blood pudding. That'll kill me or cure me, it's fifty-fifty."

"I like those odds."

Scott covered his eyes with his arm, "There's a place down the street. We'll go after I drink the coffee that you're going to make for me."

Alan rolled his eyes, pausing the game and standing to comply at least with efficiency, if not with good grace, "Pfft. Some host you are."

"I didn't invite you," Scott countered lightly, arm still protecting his eyes from the sunshine.

"Scott, I don't get you," Alan's voice was suddenly gentle and unsure. Scott frowned, concerned, and looked over to find his brother near the kitchen door.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Alan half-shrugged, looking away, "I just don't understand why you'd – Why you'd –"

Scott felt a pang, "Why I'd what?"

"Why you'd, you know," Alan raised an eyebrow and gestured to his cell phone, "risk annoying a guy who has video evidence of drunk you were last night."

Scott's eyes narrowed. His relief at once again being had was tempered with a justified wariness, "You wouldn't."

Alan didn't answer. But Scott felt that for a sleep-deprived teenager wearing last night's clothes and fading smudged goth make-up, his brother's smile sure looked depressingly confident.

Then he winked, disappearing into the kitchen, "Breakfast is on you, right?"

Scott slid prone onto the couch, welcoming the darkness as the cushions pushed into his face. It was going to be a long week.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I've so enjoyed reviewing this one, Scott and Alan make for a good double-act :) And thanks especially to everyone who left comments and kudos, each was very much appreciated. All the best x

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter 2 to follow soon :)


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